


This Hurts Even More

by annie_reckson



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alcoholism, Angst, Eventually Getting Together, F/M, Slow Burn, dealing with FEELINGS
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-19
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-02-18 00:57:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2329361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annie_reckson/pseuds/annie_reckson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg's good. It's been three years since his wife left and he's stable. He's....good. Actualized. Like his own person again. And definitely over Marie Lestrade. </p><p>Definitely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What Am I Supposed To Say

**Author's Note:**

> Alright so, the inspiration for this work was the brilliant song "Old Love/New Love" by Twin Shadow. Which means this is going to be pretty angsty. But stick around for the angsty parts and I promise the payoff will be worth it!

_What am I supposed to say..._

_And old love called me yesterday..._

_And she sounds so sweet..._

 

 

Greg's phone starts buzzing in his pocket while he and his team are in the evidence room. Tobias has just walked in with a fresh stack of printed-out surveillance photos to join the six dozen that Greg and Sally have spent the better part of three hours going over. All he can hope at this point is that the newest photos will offer a clear image of the culprit, otherwise it’ll be almost a full day wasted. He sighs as he runs a hand over his face and takes another sip of weak coffee; he should probably have spent more time trying to get answers from the night security guard rather than just letting one of his constables run through the rudimentary line of questioning.

With all this swimming around in his head, he’s not eager to break his focus when he feels the vibrations in his back pocket. Initially he chooses to ignore it, assuming that it's Sherlock trying to budger his way into the kidnapping case. However, it persistently starts buzzing again and Sally lifts an eyebrow at him in annoyance.  With a huff, Greg exits the room as quickly as possible and heads to the relative privacy of his office.

He doesn't even look at the caller ID until his door is slammed shut. He's about to press "Accept" and give Sherlock Holmes an earful about his annoying, obtrusive nature, but it's not Sherlock calling him. In fact, it's a number that's deliberately not saved in his phone. And yet, he still has the damn thing memorized. His finger lingers tentatively over the green button before finally pressing it.

"...Marie?"

"Gregory!" Her voice is so cheerful, hatefully cheerful, "I'm so glad you answered!"

“Is...Is everything alright?”

“Oh, wonderful! I just called to let you know that I’m dropping Brittany off at Middlesex this Sunday and -”

“Brittany? She...she got accepted to Middlesex?”

“Oh.” Her pause is heavy, “She didn’t tell you.”

Greg winces, “It’s fine. That’s...that’s brilliant actually. Please tell her that I’m very proud of her.”

“I will.”

He realizes that it’s been almost three years since he’s seen his daughter, “So...are you two planning on-”

“Oh, just me. Brittany is...well, she’s still a bit...”

“I understand. It’s...it’s fine.”

He can hear her take a deep breath, “So I was thinking that we could maybe grab dinner on Sunday, after Brittany’s all taken care of and settled in. Would that be alright?”

“Of course. Yeah, more than alright. I’ll...umm...I’ll see you then.”

“Fantastic!” He can hear her smile through the phone, “It's all settled then, I’ll call you Sunday.”

“Yeah, I'll um...talk to you Sunday.”

He hangs up absently, letting the phone drop onto his desk before moving around to the back of his desk and slumping into his chair. A deep exhale escapes from his lips - more air than he honestly thought he could hold in his lungs - before he leans forward and lets his head fall into his hands.

In the back of his mind he’s screaming at himself that he shouldn’t be this affected over a phone call. But this isn’t just any phone call. _Marie_ had called him. And she sounded...nice. Civil. Not to mention that it was a much different conversation that the last one they’d had. Where there was shouting and accusations. Where he’d learned that he wasn’t enough, and would never be enough. He worked too much, he was gone too much, he brought his work home with him too much.

Even worse was knowing that his daughter blamed him for the separation. It seemed like her mother received very minimal scorn for her numerous infidelities, but Greg was pushed out of her life for...for what? Doing his job? Not that he had helped at all when everything had first come crashing down, choosing instead to throw himself even further into working (and drinking) rather than chasing after the two people he cared about most. 

Since the “amicable split” he’d been dutiful in sending a card on Marie’s birthday and Brittany’s birthday, secretly hoping it would create a spot of fondness in their hearts. Although if the annual holiday card that Marie always made sure he received (and which one year featured the infuriatingly handsome boyfriend that she'd been dating at the time) was to be believed, they seemed fairly happy with the clean break they’d made.

Seemed perfectly content moving on with their lives and leaving Greg Lestrade behind.

His head popped up when he heard three solid knocks on his door and then the click of the latch before he could answer. Standing in the doorway, looking equal parts exhausted and concerned (and a little bit angelic as the light from the rest of the building illuminated her in Greg’s dark office) was Sally, of course coming to check on him. And possibly fill him in on any new details.

She cocked her head playfully, “You didn’t tell him he could come in, did you?”

Greg shook his head, “It wasn’t Sherlock.”

“Oh.” Her brow furrowed, “If you don’t mind me asking, who then? You look awful, Greg.”

“It was umm...it was Marie.”

Sally grit her teeth and smiled, almost predatory, “Marie? What on earth would she call you for?”

Greg tried to force a weak smile, “Brittany got into Middlesex. They’re coming down this weekend and Marie asked me to join her for dinner on Sunday.”

“And did you accept?”

“Yes. I...I said that I’d like to.”

“Wow Greg. The woman who breaks your heart, completely shatters you beyond recognition, just calls you out of the blue and you just act completely cordial to her? When was the last time you spoke to her before this?”

“I guess it was...”

“Probably three years ago, Greg. Am i right? I mean...” Sally came into the office and shut the door, “Do you expect me to be okay with this?”

“Sally, it won’t mean anything. It’s just dinner.”

“I’m not comfortable with it, Greg. Not even the slightest bit.”

He let out another sigh and rubbed his hands over his face, “I can sincerely promise that it will only be dinner, Sally.”

“You can’t-” She bit her lip and shook her head, “Look, I’m going to head out, alright? You think you and Tobias can finish up here?”

Greg’s mouth dropped, “Yeah...I guess we cou-”

“Thanks.”

Before he could speak again, she spun out of his office in a blur of curly hair and sensible pants. And even though he truly meant it to Sally when he said that it was only dinner with Marie, he couldn’t deny the fact that the infuriating woman still gave him a tug in his heart.

That was what frustrated him. And what he knew frustrated Sally.

 


	2. Cause It Was You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you believe there was a time I thought I could get this thing out in just three chapters? 
> 
> ...Yeah, this is looking to be at least five or six chapters at this point. Oh my.

 

_Cause it was you who called me up_

_When I couldn't shut my mouth_

_'Bout the last love that did me in_

_Three Years Earlier_

Greg swirled the amber liquid around the glass, splashing it against the melting ice cubes. Somewhere, in the distance, someone’s phone was vibrating incessantly. To be honest, it was starting to get a bit annoying.

It reminded him of family dinners where he would forget to turn the ringer down on his phone and it would ring over and over until Marie gave him an exasperated sigh and nodded towards the thing. He would always reluctantly answer it, knowing that it meant he was needed but also aware of the annoyed faces of his wife and daughter.

This in turn reminded him that his wife and daughter were currently at the home all three of them had once shared packing all of their belongings into cardboard boxes. Boxes that Marie had already purchased when she told Greg they were leaving. Some of which had already been packed and taped shut by the time he’d finally made it home, just a few hours earlier.

He shut his eyes quickly and drained his glass. Before it was even empty, he made eye contact and raised his eyebrows at the bartender - Elliot? He was pretty sure the young man’s name was Elliot - to let him know to pour another. Definitely not the best decision he ever made, but as today was clearly showing, he didn’t seem capable of making good decisions.

Before he’s even able to take a sip of the scotch possibly-Elliot had poured for him, a firm hand is on his shoulder while another is gripping his glass and setting it back onto the bar. Confusion is clearly written on his face as he briefly considers the existence of poltergeists when a familiar voice sighs in aggravation before dropping onto the stool to his right.

“Really Greg?”

He turns his head languidly - the whiskey has him feeling a bit weighted, almost like he’s swimming - and narrows his eyes at his Detective Sergeant. At Sally Donovan. His right-hand man. Well, right-hand woman. Almost literally right now. This thought makes him giggle, even if the look on Sally’s face shuts the feeling down before he can really enjoy it.

Sally runs her hand down her face, “I’ve been trying to reach you for the past hour, Greg. Have you been here the whole time?”

Oh. Perhaps that had been the noise he’d kept hearing. Well, that was a bit embarrassing.

She turned and looked sternly at the bartender, “How many of these has he had?”

The poor boy looked he was about to be arrested, “Umm..four...five maybe?”

“For fuck’s sake, Elliot. Do you see the state he’s in? Exercise some common sense, already.”

Ah good, the young man’s name was Elliot. At least Greg had gotten that one right. Notch that one down on the list. It might not have too many friends at the moment, but Greg’s sure he can fill up that side of the list in no time if he really thinks hard about it. Lord knows he’s very capable of thinking of things to go on the other side. The side that Marie had so helpfully added to that afternoon.

Suddenly, Sally is tugging him off the stool, “C’mon, let’s get you home. Be nice and I won’t tell the Detective Chief Inspector where I found you.”

Greg sticks his bottom lip out, “Hey now, he just...poured that. I can’t waste it. It shouldn’t be wasted. People might have died to bring that scotch to life.”

Sally grimaces at him before downing the glass in one gulp, “Happy now?”

“Not really.”

“Good. Now we’re even,” Once they’re outside, she pulls her phone out, “Would you prefer I call a taxi then Marie or just Marie?”

Without even thinking, Greg collapses on her shoulder and starts weeping. In the back of his head, he’s feeling a bit embarrassed about it - after all, they are on a public street and it’s not exactly nightfall yet - but the shattered cries and tears continue to come out while he grips Sally’s shoulders for leverage. And to her credit, she just sighs sadly and rubs one hand up and down his back.

“So it finally happened, then?”

He barely chokes out an affirmative.

She says something then that vaguely sounds like “I can’t say that I’m surprised,” but then tugs his chin up so they’re eye-level again, “You’re coming to my place, alright? We’ll get you all cleaned up and rested before dealing with this case in the morning."

He struggles to nod his head from where it's resting on her now-soggy shoulder, but she seems to get the message anyway. With a huff, her hands are his upper arms as she pushes him up and backs him into the brick wall of the pub. As soon as his back makes contact with the scratchy surface, he slumps against it while Sally tries to hail a cab.

From where he's leaning, he can barely hear her mumbling, "For once I actually wish Sherlock bloody Holmes were here..."

He's not sure how long he's there, only that at some point Sally his slapping his cheek to wake him up. Then she's arguing with the cabbie, insisting that Greg won't puke in the taxi. He nearly chuckles at the colorful language used and the rumble in his stomach nearly leads to him retching on the sidewalk. Which does nothing to assure the cabbie.

Finally, Greg vaguely hears something about "paying double" and he feels slim fingers slipping into his back pocket to swiftly extract his charge card before shoving him into the back of the cab. One look from Sally once he's settled is enough for him to hush his mouth and lean his head against the window. Once the cab starts moving, he allows himself a deep sigh and shuts his eyes, willing himself to think of anything but what he knows is still going on at his own house.

 

***

 

The first thing he notices is how strange his pillows smell. Marie always bought the fancy dryer sheets that made everything smell like ‘clean linen’, but the pillow his face was still smooshed in smelled like lilac or lavender...something floral that started with “l”... lotus blossom maybe. His eyes startled open and his confusion deepened - this definitely wasn’t his bed and absolutely wasn’t his bedroom. He was just starting to wonder exactly how drunk he’d gotten the night before when Sally waltzed into his room wrapped up in a dressing gown. To his delight, he could see that one of her hands was holding a mug of what was hopefully tea. And he really hoped it was for him.

“Well good morning there, sunshine.”

He groaned appreciatively and sat up as she handed the mug over, “Do I really want to know how last night went?”

Sally sat down on the bed and gave him a look that was half-frowning, “Don’t worry about it, alright? If you need someone to talk to, I’m here and I’m listening, alright? But don’t feel like you’re obligated to tell me anything.”

Greg took a sip and sighed, “Thank you, Sa-”

“ _But_ , if I ever see a repeat of last night where a case is nearly jeopardised because you’re too affected by your personal life, then I _will_ intervene.”

He crinkles his nose, “That’s a bit harsh, innit?”

Sally shook her head and placed a hand on one of Greg’s covered knees, “Look Greg. I have my current position because I’m a damn good detective. And even though you haven’t told me anything, I’m pretty sure I’ve surmised what happened. And I understand that your situation right now sucks, but that is no excuse for you to not come into work, for you to turn off your pager, for you to not answer your phone. Do you have any idea how worried I was about you?”

“I’m...I don’t know what to say, Sally. I am very sorry. I just wasn’t thinking.”

“Oh I know. And if you think you need to take a few personal days, then you should. But,” She leaned closer, her hand still gripping his knee, “Please don’t shut us out. Please don’t shut _me_ out. You’re not just my superior, Greg, you’re also my friend. I...I don’t know how you see our relationship but I consider us to be very close. And I would hate for something to happen to you because you made a rash decision.”

The hurt in her eyes makes it impossible for him to maintain contact, “Alright. Yeah. You’re...you’re right.”

Her expression softens and she stands back up, “You should get some more rest. I’ll go grab the files we need and smuggle them back here. Then we can make some sandwiches and go everything and catch you up, alright?”

Greg finished the tea and set the mug on the nightstand, “That actually sounds brilliant. Thank you, again. For...for everything.”

She rolls her eyes but smiles anyway, “Don’t worry about it, boss. Now back to sleep with you! I’ll see you soon!”

Once she’d left, Greg nestled back into the soft pillows that definitely smelled like lavender. As he felt himself dozing off again, he idly wondered how someone could go their whole life without realising how much they liked lavender. Soothing, relaxing, trustworthy lavender.

 

***

 

For the next week, Sally allows Greg to stay at her apartment. Although after the first night, he’s relegated to sleeping on the couch rather than her extremely comfortable bed. In the end though, he doesn’t mind too much - he would sleep on her floor in order to prolong the inevitable return to his emptier house.

Later, when he looks back over that time period, he’ll always wonder to himself why it took so long for him to realise how natural their arrangement felt during that week. Following Sally’s advice, he’d made the decision to “work from home” for the week in order to allow himself time to deal with the emotional turmoil his life was in. So every morning he would get up around the same time Sally did, make a simple breakfast of toast and coffee for the both of them, and then spend the day going over the case files while Sally went into the precinct. A couple of nights he made dinner, but decided it was easier just to order takeout and eat out of cartons on the dining room table while the files were scattered between them. Then, sometime around ten, Sally makes cups of tea for both of them and they start to wind down.

On Saturday evening, they decide to give their brains a break and watch a movie instead. And even though Greg is her guest and she insists on him picking the movie, Greg refuses to make a choice. So they end up watching Pacific Rim, mostly because Sally has an admitted crush on Idris Elba (and, Greg finds out, Rinko Kikuchi). However, despite how much he’s actually enjoying it, he finds himself dozing off just as the Scientist-With-Tattoos is trying to...drift?...with the monster brain.

In retrospect, he’d probably blame the couple of beers they enjoyed, the seemingly bottomless bowl of popcorn that Sally made, and Sally’s insanely comfy couch, but in reality, it made sense at the time for him to wriggle further into the cushions and rest his head on Sally’s shoulder as his drowsiness overwhelms him.

It’s a testament to how relaxed he feels that he doesn’t even question it when Sally wraps her arm around his shoulders and tugs him closer. Or when she leans her head over until her cheek is resting on top of his head. It doesn’t feel strange when he sleepily tilts his head and nuzzles the tip of his nose against the soft skin on her neck. And her soft exhale doesn’t seem out of place.

When he wakes up later, alone, with a quilt tucked across his chest, his mind will race over the details and try to figure out what they mean. But while it’s happening, while he’s - for lack of a better term - cuddling on the couch with the closest friend he has, it seems like the most natural thing in the world.


	3. You Said, "I'm Listening"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, we are still in the _Three Years Earlier_ part

_I couldn’t sleep_

_You said, “Just sleep with me”_

_I couldn’t speak_

_You said, “I’m listening”...._

That Sunday afternoon, he decides that its time for him to finally re-enter his home; now that it truly is his home, in the sense that he’ll be the only one living in it. He’s also pretty certain by this point that Sally would really like her couch and her apartment back. Though, to be fair, she asked him about a half dozen times if he wanted her to come with, just as a brace for the initial shock. Against the nagging warmth that had stubbornly settled in his chest, he’d gently turned her down each time; this was a bandage he needed to rip off on his own.

So he reluctantly finds himself unlocking the door and shuddering a bit when he can already hear the echoes of how empty the house is. The first room he entered was the living room; besides the bedrooms he knew this one would strike the strongest contrast, so he sucked in a deep breath and looked around. Other than clothes, toiletries, and some of the dishes, Greg wasn’t sure what to expect to be missing from their - his - house. As it was, all of the furniture had been purchased during their marriage, save for a few older pieces he’d inherited from his grandmother. He wasn’t sure if he was pleased when he noticed that all of it was virtually untouched. It looked like Marie and Brittany had taken some books and photos, and for some reason the throw pillows on the couch, but they’d left the couch itself, as well as the loveseat, all the side tables, and the coffeetable. The rug and lamps remained as well.

He’s not sure if it’s meant that way, but he feels like it’s all left there to mock him. To remind him that a complete family is supposed to be sitting in this room, rather than just an aging, greying, future-divorced, lonely man. All of the adjectives seem to hover around his head like a swarm of angry bees until he finally shakes his head free of them and heads to the kitchen.

Probably not his best idea. Marie had been kind enough to make sure all of the cabinets were closed, but he didn’t have to be a genius to know what he’d see when he opened them. And the last thing he needed right now was a reminder in the form of mostly-bare cabinets. Instead, he headed straight for the nice, wooden bar that the two of them had picked out at a flea market in their third year of marriage. Refinishing it had been a dual effort, with both of them spending multiple weekends sanding and then staining the vintage wood a dark, mahogany color. Although at the moment, Greg was trying not to let those memories flood his mind, instead focusing on the half-empty bottle of moderately priced bourbon nestled in the back next to some unused vermouth and three different types of bitters.

It’s a delightfully well-stocked bar, one their friends had always cooed over when they’d visited. Back in the days that Greg and Marie had friends who were couples and came over for the innocuous dinners and asinine small-talk that couples in their late-twenties and thirties seem to enjoy so much. All of their numbers were still in Greg’s phone, serving only as names to scroll past when he was trying to contact Sally, Sherlock, John, or one of his other contacts or co-workers.

As if on cue, a slight buzz in his pocket removes him from his disjointed reverie. He grabs the bourbon and a glass in one hand - although he’s really not quite sure whether he’ll be using the glass - and pulls his phone out with the other before settling on one of the high stools on the kitchen counter. It certainly would be more comfortable to nestle into his favorite armchair, but the living room is not a ghost he’s ready to revisit right that second. At least here, he can pretend that Brittany’s ridiculously expensive juice blend is still sitting right next to the milk and eggs. And that the cabinet in front of him still contains boxes of Marie’s favorite brand of tea, the kind he’d always found to be a little weak for his tastes.

With a sigh, he unlocks his phone and reads the short text from Sally that is - unsurprisingly - waiting for him. It’s a simple one really, just asking if he’s alright, making sure - again - that he doesn’t want her to stop by. He contemplates ignoring it, but remembers her earlier plea and decides that he at least owes her a quick reply to let her know that he’s alive and functioning.

He definitely owes her much more than that, but a quick text is a start.

To his credit, this time he’s much more responsible with his alcohol, although that absolutely had more to do with lingering memories overwhelming him when he didn’t expect - Marie listening to Radio 4 while she made dinner, Brittany sitting right where he was so she could ask both of them for help with her homework - than a deliberate intention to take it easy. Nevertheless, he’s only able to sip down three glasses before conceding defeat on obtaining any form of peace in the house that evening and deciding to call it an early night. Once upstairs, he pauses at the end of the hallway before sighing and opening the door to their stale guestroom.

In some strange way, the lack of familiarity to the crisp sheets made it easier for him to pass out and forget what lurked in the rest of his house. As he felt himself drifting off, he swore that he would take the time tomorrow to get everything in the house sorted. He could take care of it, just not right then.

 

***

 

Of course, the first thing he did that morning was subconsciously decide to throw himself into his work. It’d be stupid of him to recognise it as anything but defense mechanism at this point in his life, but he shoves the feelings underneath regardless. In his head, he convinces himself that it’s decidedly more important to keep the underbelly of the city under control rather than tidying up his newfound bachelor pad.

For the next week, he’s only home to crawl back into the guest bed for a few hours of sleep before dragging himself back to the MET. A few nights, he even goes as far as snoozing at his desk, mouth hanging open as he’s leaned back in his chair. He’ll tell himself that it’s because their caseload is particularly trying during that first week, but even he knows its a lie.

Throughout those seven days, Donovan decides to “slyly” keep him fed - he’s not dumb, he knows the nice Asian lady at the deli down the street isn’t going to keep “accidentally” giving her an extra cup of soup that happens to be his favorite - and make sure he has a steady supply of caffeine. Even if its not her bringing it, he can tell its her influence when Anderson gives him a knowing smirk as he sets a paper cup down on Greg’s desk.

And on Friday when Gregson, for once, presents him with a stack of finely finished paperwork before lunchtime, Greg can only smirk to himself and make a mental note to buy Sally a fruit basket or something.

Unfortunately, that mental note settles comfortably in the back of his mind when a young man turns up dead in the lobby bathroom of a fancy hotel. He knows to expect the flurry of activity by now, but he finds himself a bit winded these days whenever a case like this comes up. Especially once they find out the identity of the young man - son of an MP, never good - and they’re forced to work even harder to find the culprit.

Because of the stressful nature of the case, Greg finds himself running home at odd hours just to take a quick shower and wash the London grime off of him. Theoretically, he could always use the showers at the precinct, but a few years ago he’d insisted on getting one of those fancy showers with multiple sprayheads built into the wall. It was one of the few luxuries he indulged in. Marie hadn’t ever really understood his desire to clean himself as thoroughly as possible after completing a case.

Through his quick visits, he slowly becomes accustom to how quiet the house is these days. It’s a quiet comfort that everything is exactly wherever he happens to leave it, even if it’s the dirty socks he tore off the day before. By the third week of the case, he finds that he kind of likes it, although he’s hasty to dismiss the thought before he can try to figure out what it means.

The hurt is still palpable, hidden just underneath the surface for his own self-preservation. And he knows, when he stops for a second to look around, that it’s fading day by day. But for now, he just enjoys the fact that he never has to hunt around for a clean towel and he doesn’t have to worry about someone using up the last of his shampoo without replacing it.

Although he’d be remiss not to be aware that a certain someone keeps leaving wrapped sandwiches on his desk for him to find once he gets back to his office. Someone who, for some reason, knows exactly what types of sandwiches he likes and even gets him on the fancy, crusty bread that he’s really fond of but purchases for whatever reason. On one level, he knows that he should speak to Donovan and remind her that she needs to focus on the case, but there’s a large part of him that’s practically preening at the tiny acts of attention. That part is mostly successful in convincing him that he can remind Donovan of her duties once they solve this case and he’s better able to take care of himself.

Before he’s able to fully notice, nearly two months have passed and he’s sneering in one of the interrogation rooms with an angry older male sitting in front of him and Sally standing behind him protected by the one-way glass. Turns out the young man’s uncle had a long-running feud with his father that had escalated into a physical altercation when the son had finally confronted his uncle about his behaviour. Everything had finally clicked in Greg’s head when he’d realised who the brother of the MP was and pulled up both their arrest records.

Still, even with all the loose ends tied up, Greg still finds himself lingering in his office long after he thinks everyone else has left. He should be reaching for his keys and heading home, but his fingers keep twitching and pulling back every time he tries to grab them. There’s nothing left to do here, all the necessary paperwork has been filled out and his constables have been sent home, but he doesn’t know if he wants to face what’s on the other end of his own drive home. It’s one thing when he’s only there for a half hour or even a few hours, but he’s not scheduled to be in tomorrow. The prospect of living in a haunted house never appealed to him.

For a moment, he considers sleeping at his desk again, if only to prolong the inevitable, but his aching back roundly shoots down that plan. He’s just about to head for the cleanest hotel near him when he hears the tapping on his door frame. Of course Sally is there, with the way she’s been behaving, there’s no way she would leave the precinct before him.

Still, he sighs, “Donovan, you should be home.”

She crosses her arms, “And shouldn’t you be as well?”

“As it happens, I was just heading there.”

He’s not sure if he imagines her rolling her eyes, “Greg, don’t lie to me alright? I’ve been watching you from my desk for the past half hour.”

He coughs out a “Why?” before even thinking about it.

“Because I fucking _care_ about you, Greg! Everything’s probably seemed easier because you were focused on your work, but now it’s coming back, innit? And you’re scared.”

“I’m not...I’m not _scared_.”

She gives him a sad smile and reaches for his hand, “You don’t have to pretend to be strong all the time, yeah? We all know you’re human. You can be human and be hurt and no one will lose their respect for you.”

Their fingers entangle, “That’s a nice thing to say but-”

“No ‘buts’, alright?” She chews her lip, “Look, you know that you can stay at my place again, right? You’ll have to take care of it eventually but not until you feel you’re ready.”

“Sally. I can’t just keep...imposing myself.”

She chuckled, “...Always so daft. You would never be imposing, alright?”

Her smile is so brilliant then, even in the darkness of his office. And he feels his chest swell. With something like appreciation but more than that. Something like fondness but deeper than that. Something like affection but stronger than that. Something that causes him to use their joined hands to tug Sally just close enough that he can lean forward and brush his lips gently against hers.

Then he realises that the aching he feels is matched when he feels her pressing back.

 

 


	4. Until It's You, Love

_And if it breaks me down_

_I'll be around_

_Until it's you, love_

_You're my new love_

 

Greg pulls back hurriedly, “I’m sorry, Sally! I shouldn’t-”

Sally reaches forward and places her hands, reassuredly, on his cheeks, “Calm down, Greg, it’s alright! We’re alright, okay?”

He blinks rapidly, like he’s trying to collect himself, “That was completely inappropriate for me, Sally. You know that; I just...took advantage of your kindness-”

“Oh my God, Greg. You’re unbelievably daft, you know that? Sometimes I forget how dense you truly are,” She steps away and places her hands on her hips, “Look, alright, you’re tired and I’m tired. Please come and stay at my place-” Greg goes to interject and she puts a hand up to stop him, “No discussion about it. We’ll both get some sleep and we can discuss everything in the morning, okay?”

Greg nods the affirmative, too tired to really argue at this point. He waits in his office, gathering his papers into his briefcase, while Sally calls them a cab. It’ll cost a fortune to get one to take them all the way to Sally’s apartment, but Greg had insisted on it. After all, driving while fatigued can be almost as dangerous as driving intoxicated. However, he makes a mental note to himself to make sure that he pays for it, despite any objections Sally may have.

Luckily, Sally’s dozed off by the time they reach her apartment building, leaning against Greg’s shoulder and snoring lightly. Greg hands over a few bills to the cabbie and gently nudges Sally awake, something in his chest tightening when she blinks, blurry-eyed and confused, before realizing where they are. She rubs her eyes as she gets out of the cab, then shakes her head as if she’s trying to get the drowsiness off of her.

With a yawn, she unlocks the door to her flat and gestures for Greg to walk in first. He’s not sure what to expect once he hears the door click and latch, but Sally just removes her jacket, hangs it up on the coat rack, and heads to her bedroom, shutting the door behind her. Greg sighs and follows suit, heading instead to the guest bedroom that he’s sure hasn’t been used since he was staying here on a regular basis. Some of his button-downs are probably still in the closet.

It should be unsettling how at ease he feels in what should still be considered a strange bed in a strange flat. In fact, he should probably be more worried that he feels more comfortable in a place that he really only spent one week in than he feels in the house that he’d spent the last few decades of his life occupying. Right now though, his brain is only focused enough to settle on one thing: sleep. Everything else can be pondered about once he’s well-rested, or as close to well-rested as he typically gets. He pulls the comforter up to his neck and nuzzles into the pillow that he’s become so familiar with, and drifts off to sleep

 

***

 

A good cup of coffee is one of the best things a person can smell in the morning. At least that’s what Greg believes; and what his first thought is in the morning when he’s roused by the easily recognisable smell. He lumbers in the kitchen, still in his slacks and undershirt, to find Sally already sipping a cup at the kitchen table and reading the morning paper. It’s an unfortunate reminder of the domesticity that he’s otherwise sorely lacking at the moment, but he doesn’t want to speak up and ruin the moment.

Sally looks up as he steps closer and smiles, “The pot just finished brewing. I’ve got some danishes in the fridge if you’re hungry.”

Greg eagerly pours himself a cup and grabs a cheese danish before settling opposite of Sally. She wordlessly hands him the Local section of the paper and continues reading whichever article struck her fancy. The only sound in the room is the soft rustling of paper and those of the two of them drinking their coffee; for a moment, Greg wonders if Sally does plan on letting his indiscretion from the night before slip by undiscussed.

Because, honestly, he’s fraught with worry whenever he thinks about it. He’s not sure he’s willing to lose Sally as both an officer and as friend because he couldn’t control his urges. Not that he hadn’t wanted to, god he had wanted to, really ever since the day he’d woken up hungover in Sally’s guest bed. And in the interring weeks, his feelings for her had only grown, as if he was realising finally that he had someone in his life who truly cared about him. About his wellbeing, his sanity, and his caffeine intake. Not to mention that Sally was stunningly beautiful, wonderfully stubborn, and fiercely independent. He’d seen multiple times that Sally was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, and now it seemed she was also fairly capable at taking care of him, too. And that was something that he wished he could allow himself to enjoy, because it was absolutely something he wanted to continue for the rest of his life.

Except now he’d possibly ruined it.

As if reading his thoughts, Sally puts down the newspaper and rests her chin in her hand, “So, about last night-”

“Sally,” Greg interjects, hurriedly, “I am really sorry, alright? It was a lack of judgement on my part and if you want to switch departments or precincts or-”

“Greg!” Sally puts a hand up to get him to stop talking, “Did you want to.... kiss me?” Her expression is soft and open.

Greg’s mouth is slack and he wants to lie and avoid the repercussions, but he can’t, “Yeah. Yeah, I really did. Have for a while, actually, if I let myself think about it.” He rubs a hand through his short hair.

Sally exhales loudly and smiles again, this time wider, “Good, because I’ve, also, wanted that for awhile and I know you’re still in a sorts so I’m not, really, expecting anything, but,” Her fingers dance slowly towards his until her fingertips rest lightly on his skin, “I would be willing to try. With you. If you wanted. When you wanted.”

Greg’s eyes widen and he points dumbly at himself, “Me? That’s what...who...you want?” His voice fades out towards the end as his eyes fall to the table.

“Yeah...” Sally reaches out to lift his chin with a finger, “Not right away, I know you’re still...coping... but, if that were something you wanted to do. When you were ready.”

To be honest, Greg can’t believe what he's hearing. He’s not going to be cliche and convince himself that this is the first time he’s felt really wanted - his marriage was pretty awful but not that bad - but it’s certainly the first time in three months that he hasn’t felt like a tossed-aside old man. And yes, he absolutely does want something with the beautiful, amazing woman across from him that brings him his favorite soups and sandwiches and always has his back and makes him feel brilliant even when he’s not. Possibly because she’s brilliant and, being around her, he can’t help but pick up a little bit of it through osmosis.

He sits up and moves around the table until he’s standing in front of Sally, then gently grasps her hand to tug her upwards. For possibly the first time, he notices that Sally has deep chocolate-coloured eyes, similar to his own. He’d never been a fan of his eye colour - always wanted something more interesting, like blue or light green - but on Sally, they look mesmerising. It reminds him of a song Brittany used to play all the time when she’d been younger, something about “freckles in eyes” being “mirror images.” He’s always thought the song was a bit treacly, but now he’s seriously considering that there might be something to it after all.

Greg doesn’t close his eyes when he leans in, only letting them flutter shut when Sally’s lips meet his. This time is much better than the first, more pressure and less hesitation, no qualms about intent. Shivers run through him when’s Sally’s tongue presses against his lips, the tip tracing along the seam until Greg opens his mouth invitingly. Her tongue traces along his teeth before exploring further, occasionally rubbing against his own and letting it drag against the bumpy surface.

A groan escapes his throat and Sally pulls back, “You alright? Is this okay?”

He grabs her close and nestles into the crook of her neck, “Yeah, yeah. Definitely okay. Probably the most okay thing that’s happened to me in months. Possibly years.”

Then he chuckles despite himself and holds onto Sally even tighter. She starts reassuredly running her hands along his back and through his hair, patiently soothing him. Half of his mind implores Greg to shake some sense into her, because really she could do so much better than the broken, greying mess that’s in her arms. But the other half remembers that kissing thing they just did and really wants to do it again.

Greg listens to his better half, placing small kisses up Sally’s neck and along her jawline until their lips meet again. He pushes more this time, grips Sally’s hipbones like they’re tethering him to the planet, makes sure that he’s broadcasting his interest. Because he might have let someone decent slip through his fingers, but he was not about to let the same thing happen with someone as fantastic as Sally Donovan.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PENULTIMATE CHAPTER!!!!!!


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